The Reunion (16 page)

27

There was no wait. Most of the breakfast crowd had drifted out, leaving mother and son a choice booth by the front window. She settled Kenny into his highchair, unfolded the menu in front of him, and pointed to the center picture. “Pancakes today, Mr. Man?” asked Carolyn. That was the beauty of Denny's, all of the entrees were pictured on the menu. Drool spilled down his chin as Kenny nodded his head and excitedly clapped his hands. She didn't know why, but for the first time in days, she was feeling good. It was nice to be able to enjoy a leisurely breakfast away from the watchful eyes of the cop stationed next door at the hotel.

The food had just arrived when she first noticed him. He was sitting at the counter, nervously swiveling side to side on a stool while sipping coffee and reading a newspaper. The baseball cap hid the thick, dark hair she remembered, but the hard, blotchy face and diminutive frame hadn't changed. She had no doubt it was him.

Panic welled up in her throat. She had been too quick to dismiss Dunlevy's suggestion that he might search her out. She was breathing fast and trying to control it; she couldn't let him see her fear. She started to feed the baby, praising each bite, yet her eyes darted around the room, searching for the nearest exit. She needed a distraction.

“One more big bite for mommy,” she said, raising the fork to his mouth. With her other hand she inched the juice glass forward, near the edge of the table.

The boy gleefully gobbled his food, unaware anything was wrong. Just as Kenny opened his mouth for another bite, her elbow caught the glass, spilling the cold juice down the front of him. He responded with a loud cry, just as she had hoped.

“Oh, honey, mommy's so sorry! Look what I did,” she said, her performance a little over the top. “Miss?” she yelled to the waitress, “I'm afraid we've had a little accident.”

The young woman shot her an exasperated look. “That's all right. I'll clean it up.” The waitress handed her a white dish towel. “This is for the baby,” she said, forcing a smile. “I'll get the table.”

Carolyn grabbed the diaper bag in one arm and the baby in the other. “I've got to change him. Where's the restroom?”

The woman pointed toward the back of the restaurant without looking up from the wet table. “Over in the corner, the first right.”

She cautiously made her way past the counter, too frightened to make eye contact with anyone. There was a pay phone mounted on the wall at the end of the narrow hallway. The men's bathroom was on the left, the ladies on the right, and a third door marked “Employees Only” was to the right of it. She ducked her head inside to study the layout of the kitchen as the wet baby squirmed in her arms.

***

After just two minutes he became suspicious. The whole accident routine now seemed contrived. Had she recognized him? He put down the newspaper and glanced out the window. Her rented Ford Explorer was still parked in front of the restaurant. He thought about checking the restroom, but that would be a sure giveaway and likely spoil his big plan for later that night. No, he would give her two more minutes.

***

She ignored the sign on the door, took a deep breath, and boldly marched through the kitchen with Kenny in her arms. No one seemed to even notice her as she moved briskly toward the back door. Her tee shirt was soaking wet and her heart pounded wildly in her chest.

Just outside the restaurant, she saw her savior pumping his own gas at the Texaco next door. He was tall, burly, and unshaven. His sleeveless tee shirt and jeans were filthy, and his boots were dull with road dust. Tattoos adorned each arm. His long, greasy hair was pulled back in a ponytail and tucked up under a cowboy hat.

She cradled Kenny against her as she briskly walked straight toward him. She looked back again. He wasn't following, at least as far as she could tell. “Sir, can you help me please?” she asked pitifully.

He nervously fiddled with his hat, his other hand still squeezing gas into his pickup. “What's the matter?” he asked, sensing the fear in her voice.

She glanced toward the Denny's. “It's my ex, the baby's father,” she lied. “He followed us to the restaurant even though I've got a restraining order on him. He's not supposed to come within a hundred yards, but he's been following us around all day.”

“Did he try something?”

“Not yet, but the last time he did this I ended up in the hospital. I'm really scared, mister.” The tears started to flow.

The cowboy's chest seemed to puff up. “Where's this son-of-a-bitch?”

“He's still in Denny's. We snuck out the back door. I just need a ride. Can you get me away from here?”

“Where's your car?”

“It's in front of the restaurant, but my daddy can pick it up later.”

“I'll drive you to your car. I won't let him touch you.”

“No, please just take me away from here,” she begged. “Please?”

He seemed to grunt as he walked around to the passenger side of the truck to open the door. “Hop in, lady.”

“Thank you so much,” she beamed.

“You want me to take you to the police station?”

She thought about that for a minute. The hotel was out of the question. If he had been following her it would be the first place he would look. She had few options at this point. “Okay, the police station,” she said.

***

He burst into the ladies room, roughly pushing open each of the stall doors. “Shit, shit, shit!” he growled, kicking the trash can.

The third stall was occupied. A startled waitress, still on the toilet, tried to shriek, but it wouldn't come. She stared up at him, her hands instinctively dropping to her lap to cover her privates.

He shrugged, flashing her a grin. “Sorry, wrong bathroom.”

***

Carolyn looked at her watch. Dunlevy said he would be back in the office about noon, and it was now almost twelve thirty. The thought of going back to the police station and explaining her story sent chills up her spine. Plus, she had less than twenty-four hours left before she could go home. The stupid cops might want her to stay longer.

She surveyed the sidewalks for a pay phone and spotted one at the next corner, near the front door of the CVS pharmacy.

“This is my stop,” she said as he pulled up to the light.

“Here?” He looked startled. “The police station ain't for three more blocks.”

“I know,” she replied. “Please just let us out here.”

The cowboy wouldn't hear of letting her jump out in traffic. He pulled to the curb, exited the vehicle, and came around to open her door. “Lady, you sure you'll be okay?”

“Yes, I'll call daddy. You're a lifesaver. I can't thank you enough.”

She waved from the pay phone as he drove away. Kenny watched his mother and mimicked the motion. He lifted his hand and flapped his fingers toward the street. “Say bye-bye to the nice man,” she told him, but Kenny only laughed.

Dunlevy's business card was in her purse. She fished through the bag, found it, and started dialing.

The switchboard operator answered. “Good afternoon, FBI.”

She stared at the card. “Yes, Martin Dunlevy please.”

“I'm sorry, he's in a meeting right now. Can I help you?”

She hesitated. “No.” Her voice rose. “This is Carolyn Baker. I'm being followed and I need to talk to him
now!
”

Dunlevy was on the line within ten seconds. “Carolyn, where are you?” he asked, a touch of panic in his voice.

“Downtown, at a pay phone just outside the CVS.”

“I'm four blocks away. Don't you move!” he commanded. “I'll be there in two minutes.”

Carolyn stood just inside the door of the pharmacy and suspiciously eyed everyone on the sidewalk. “What's taking him so long?” she said under her breath. Just then she heard the screech of wheels on the street. It was him. He seemed panic-stricken as he jumped out of the car and scoured the storefronts for them.

She threw Kenny over her shoulder, grabbed the diaper bag, and ran outside toward him. She was shaking now; her mouth was dry and her pulse frantic. She wrapped her free arm around him and began to sob.

Later that afternoon, Dunlevy ordered Franklin to retrieve their belongings from the hotel and take them to his home. Carolyn and Kenny were now officially in protective custody.

28

Dunlevy stopped the car in front of a small brick colonial in a pleasant suburban neighborhood. Azaleas and newly planted dogwood trees lined the front yard. Carolyn surveyed the property as she stepped out of the car. There was a sameness to the neighborhood. There were minor variations from house to house, but every structure on the block was of a similar colonial style.

Inside, the furnishings were stark, even for a bachelor. There was one small sofa in the formal living room, the formal dining room was empty, and the walls were bare. No carpets or rugs covered the dark hardwood floors.

“Didn't get much in the divorce settlement, huh?” Carolyn remarked.

He laughed. “I got what I wanted. The good stuff's back here. Follow me.”

She lugged Kenny in his child carrier down a narrow hallway to a large open room in the back of the house. There were two mismatched couches, no treatments on the windows, and a leather recliner patched with silver duct tape. A big-screen Mitsubishi television, topped with several softball trophies, occupied a corner. Framed classic movie posters from the forties and fifties hung in cheap metal frames.

She studied them as she gingerly placed the child carrier with sleeping baby onto the couch. “All westerns,” she said aloud.

“Is there any other kind?” he replied with a smile. He directed her attention to the frame over the couch. “Here's my favorite.
Son of Paleface.
Roy Rogers, Bob Hope, and Jane Russell. The only real comedy Roy ever made.”

She stifled a laugh. “So it's not just the posters. You actually watch this crap?”

“Crap?” he asked indignantly. “Since I was a kid.”

She analyzed him for a moment. “Typical law enforcement. You like the whole idea of the white-hat/black-hat thing; good guys versus bad guys. No shades of gray.”

His eyes wandered up in thought. “I wish it were that deep. More like Dale Evans had a great ass,” he quipped. “I'm a sucker for a woman in boots and a Naugahyde miniskirt.”

She laughed hard. Tears began to collect in the corner of her eyes. As she wiped them, her gaze fixed on the trophies. “Softball player too?”

“Coach. Y-league.” He held up a bottle. “Wine?”

She nodded. “I never would have pegged you for a little league coach.”

He shrugged. “I'm a big kid. I can relate.”

“Then how come you don't have any of your own?” she asked.

A laugh caught in his throat. “Long story.”

She frowned. “I'm prying again. Sorry.”

“It's no state secret. When my wife and I were together there just never seemed to be a good time. She was busy. I was traveling. The subject would come up from time to time but it just never happened. It was always a disappointment, but since the marriage didn't work out maybe it was for the best.”

“What did she do that made her too busy for a family?”

“Attorney for the Justice Department. She was on the fast track. I never really pushed the issue. I wanted to be supportive. But now that I look back on it, I think she wanted somebody to tell her to stop, to tell her it was time to have a baby. And when I didn't I think she took it as a lack of interest,” he said, shaking his head. “But who really knows?”

“You've got to make time for your family,” Carolyn replied, nodding in agreement. “Sometimes I worry about Kenny. You know, no male role model.”

He handed her a glass of Merlot. “It's important. My old man was a big jock. He'd come to all my high school football games. I think he enjoyed it more than I did.”

She smiled. “It sounds like you two are close.”

“Were. He passed away about ten years ago.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Does Kenny see his dad?” he asked.

Carolyn blinked and suddenly broke eye contact. “His father has never seen him. I don't even know where he lives. That's one of
my
long stories,” she cautioned.

“I didn't mean to…”

She waved him off and took a gulp of wine. “Don't worry about it. I was working as a nurse in Dallas at the time. He was an emergency room physician separated from his wife. I thought we'd get married, but when I became pregnant, he went back to his wife.”

Dunlevy sat next to her on the couch. “How about your parents? I mean your adoptive parents. Are they in Oklahoma?”

She nervously laughed. “No. Let's just say it wasn't exactly an ideal childhood. That's an even
longer
story.”

Dunlevy fiddled with the hook on his watch, eager to change the subject. His eyes never lifted. “Until we catch DeMichael, this is going to be your home. So maybe we'll have time to share some long stories.”

Her eyes twinkled again. “I'd like that.”

They finished their wine in silence. Soon after, Kenny awoke loudly, hungry and ready for a diaper change. After dinner Dunlevy and Kenny romped around the family room for a full hour, with the agent spending most of that time on all fours, chasing the boy like a frisky dog. They wrestled, laughed, and eventually settled down in front of the big screen to watch cartoons.

Carolyn was loading the dishwasher when she noticed the quiet. The laughter and loud banging from the next room had ceased. She peeked her head around the corner. Dunlevy was sitting on the floor with his back propped against the couch and his eyes closed. Kenny was out cold. He was snuggled in Dunlevy's arms, a bottle of juice still clutched in his tiny hands.

Dunlevy's eyes opened as she tenderly lifted the boy from his lap. It took him a second to focus. “What time is it?” he whispered.

She smiled. “About eight thirty. I'm going to put him down. I'll be right back.”

The agent moved to the couch, flipping through the dozens of cable channels before settling on a basketball game. When Carolyn returned, he noticed her eyes were red and swollen. She quickly moved past him toward the kitchen without speaking.

“What's the matter?” he called out.

“Nothing. I'll be done in a minute. Let me just rinse these last few dishes,” she replied, her voice cracking.

She was still at the sink when he approached. Dunlevy placed his hands on her shoulders. She tensed at his touch. “You're upset. What's wrong?”

She turned to face him. “I don't want you to hate me. You've been so nice to me and Kenny, taking us into your house like this, and I haven't been completely honest with you.”

A knot was building in his stomach. “What?” he asked as he led her to a seat at the kitchen table.

“I called Professor Hudson, like you told me, to confirm our meeting before I went over to his house. He mentioned that he'd gone to his office and picked up some notes, interviews with the survivors. He thought there might be some stuff about my biological father. He said we could pull the gym bag full of notes out of his trunk when I got there and go through them.”

“And?”

A single tear rolled down her left cheek. “And, when I saw him like that, slumped over the wheel, what he told me just popped into my head—gym bag, notes, trunk.”

Dunlevy's eyes shot wide open. “You didn't?”

She threw up her arms in exasperation. “I was running on adrenaline. I was scared! The top on the car was down and I saw the trunk latch. I popped it and took the notes.”

“Where are they now?”

She paused and looked away. “In the next room, in Kenny's diaper bag.”

“Jesus Christ! That's why they found your fingerprints on the left side of the dashboard. I couldn't figure that one out.” He nervously ran his fingers through his hair. “The Wilmington PD didn't confiscate the bag when you were pulled over?”

She shrugged. “It was just a ratty navy blue gym bag with about thirty yellow legal pads. They were looking for a gun or something; they didn't care anything about it. They gave it back with the rest of my things when you came and got me.”

Dunlevy walked to the window and watched the car lights passing by on the street behind his house. “Go get the bag, please.”

Two hours later, a tape recorder and two empty wine bottles were in the center of the small kitchen table. Notes were scattered everywhere. Dunlevy had donned his reading glasses so he could more easily catch words as he scanned the well-worn pages.

“Hudson told me a week ago that there were two other survivors, but it looks like this one wouldn't be any use to us,” Dunlevy commented, his face still buried in the paperwork. “He's in a German nursing home and hasn't said a word in more than ten years. And the other guy is apparently healthy, but nonresponsive. He refused to give Hudson an interview for the book.”

Carolyn stood and stretched her long legs. “Yeah, Reussel, on Martinique.” Then it struck her. In all the confusion there had been something else she had forgotten to confess. She noticeably winced as she sat down.

“What is it now?” he asked.

“Gerhard Reussel,” she replied, looking almost apologetic.

“What about him?”

“I talked to him.”

He was flabbergasted. “You're bullshitting, right?”

She pointed to the legal pad. “Well, the phone number's right there in the margin. I was going through the notes. I called. That's not a crime, is it?”

He glared at her. “And what did he say?” His words were slow and deliberate.

“He didn't say a lot. His daughter came home while we were on the phone. He didn't want her to know he was talking to me. He said I could e-mail him.”

Dunlevy's eyes widened. “And did you?”

Her gaze moved to the floor. “Yes. I asked him some questions about my father, if he had any thoughts as to why someone would want to kill them after all these years. I also asked if anyone from U-352 came ashore in the United States during their mission, you know, if they had a contact here during the war.”

Dunlevy stood and nervously paced the kitchen. “And did he reply?”

She hesitated. “I only e-mailed him last night.”

He shook his head. “What about the phone conversation, anything else?”

She thought a moment. “Yeah. He asked me to never call him again.”

“Well then,” he said, gesturing toward his laptop, “it might be a good idea to check your e-mail.”

She pulled the computer in front of her, smartly tapping on the keys until her e-mail provider popped up. She had one message. Dunlevy stood over her shoulder to read along: